Delusions
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: George has never been the same since Fred's death nine years ago. After nearly a decade of alcohol and depression, can he finally come to terms with the fact that he has a problem?


**Happy Halloween! This is sort of dark and short and I wrote it on the spur of a moment, please review!**

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><p><em>"They scream<em>

_The worst things in life come free to us_

_And we're all under the upper hand_

_Go mad for a couple grams_

_And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland_

_Or sell love to another man_

_It's too cold outside_

_For angels to fly_

_For angels to fly_

_For angels to die."_

_-The A Team, Ed Sheeran_

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><p>Head throbbing. The taste of alcohol on my lips. A pain behind your temples.<p>

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Words don't come out the way you planned. Eyes sting. Blood rushes to your head. Lightning courses through your veins.

"Why don't you sit down? You don't look too good."

"I'm fine." Hands tremble like a leaf in the wind. Someone touches your arm. Skin smolders. The sensation of ice replacing your blood.

The whispers, they bother you, but you try not for it to be so. You try to be strong, but you are not. You are hiding behind a mask.

Vienna.

Vision clouds. You're familiar with nothing but whiskey. You can smell it, you can taste it, you can hear it splashing in bottles.

"Sit down, for God's sake."

Hands ball into fists. "I'm fine!" It comes as a shout. You didn't realize your voice was so loud.

"Calm down, Ge-"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" The Three Broomsticks has gone dangerously quiet. Tears blur your vision, staining your eyesight. "Don't tell me to do anything!"

"George-"

"Shut up!"

"George-"

"What the fuck's going on?"

"Isn't that the Weasley kid-"

"Come on, honey, let's go-"

"George! Calm down!"

Glass shatters between your fingers. Outside, you glimpse water glistening on the Hogsmeade streets. Peaceful. So peaceful.

"Rosmerta-"

"Rosmerta, call Hogwarts-"

Head spins. The room spins.

"Get Professor McGonagall down here immediately."

"He's not a student-"

"I'm fine!" Do you even believe the words you are now saying? You feel a silver butter knife in your hands and aren't quite sure how it got there.

"George, there's been a misunderstanding."

"You can't- You aren't- He- He lived here- Met- Angelina loved him- They met here- Fred-" You aren't even sure what you're saying now.

"He's drunk." Rosmerta's voice is one that you recognize.

"He's delusional."

Pain sears your side. You press a hand to it and pull it back. It's covered in a warm, viscous scarlet.

"Jesus Christ."

"What's going on?" Your own voice comes out in an almost inaudible mumble.

"McGonagall had better bring Madam Pomfrey."

Your eyes roll back. You fall on the hard floor of the Three Broomsticks. Your last conscious thought was why there was so much blood and so little pain.

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><p>"How is he?"<p>

Voices sound around you. You have a splitting headache. You try to move but your side screams in protest.

"He's doing a lot better," says another voice.

There's nothing but darkness as far as you can see. You know that no matter what, when you open your eyes it will be just as black. There will be no Fred. There will be nothing.

"He's had me worried," the first voice murmurs. It's an oddly comforting sound, a warm but somber tone appropriate for a funeral of someone you're only vaguely acquainted with.

Merlin, I'm not dead, am I?

"I don't know what he was thinking," a new voice says, this one hard and stern but with all the likeness of a mother.

"He wasn't thinking. It was the second of May."

"It's been nine years," comes an equally quiet voice.

You open your eyes. Light filters through the tall windows of the Hogwarts hospital wing, but the light is cold and doesn't bathe you in warm rays. Around your bed are three very familiar people.

"Glad you're awake," Neville Longbottom says tartly.

You blink several times, uncertain of what you are seeing. Madam Pomfrey stands to your side, gently scolding you as she readjusts your bandages. Professor McGonagall looks down at you, concern and sternness evidently battling in her subconscious.

"You know what you did, don't you, George?" she asks softly.

"W-What am I doing here?" you ask, shaking your head. "I'm twenty-nine, Professor. My wife-My wife is probably worried sick about me-"

"George," Neville interrupts softly. He shakes his head. "It's the third of May."

"I-I don't care!" Your voice cracks. You do care.

"George," McGonagall says softly. "You came to Hogwarts yesterday during the day. We visited the graves together, you and I and all the other professors here. Professor Longbottom saw you in the Three Broomsticks yesterday evening. You were very drunk. You started a fight."

"What- What are you talking about?"

"You killed a man yesterday, George."

No. No. There's no way you ripped a brother out of someone's life, a son away from his mother, a husband from his wife, a life stripped away. A strangled cry gurgles in your throat. You try to move, and you feel the wound in your side reopening. But you don't care. Your arm catches. You are tethered down, like some sort of animal.

"St. Mungo's is accepting you as a patient in their Mental Health Ward. You will be deemed fit, or unfit, for trial. From there we will assist you as we can."

"I-I need to talk to Angie! Let me talk to Angie!"

"George," Neville says quietly, his eyes full of pity. "It's for the best."

You try to scream, but nothing comes out but a strangled cry. All of this-all of it-has happened because Fred died nine years ago. Fred died instead of you.

You don't think you'll ever forgive yourself.


End file.
